"Fucking hell," The words fell out of Lestrade's mouth before he even had time to think about them. He didn't care-he was having an exceptionally bad day and his headache grew worse and he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore Donovan and Anderson constant bickering with Sherlock. John looking hopelessly in the corner at what to do.
Poor bloke.
"Shut it you three!" Lestrade snapped angrily, his eyes flashing in irritation. To his surprise, the three became quite at his deadly tone. "You're arguing like a bunch of school kids! For gods sake all of you, grow up." He tried not to shout at the last sentence, it was hard not to he had to admit, but he couldn't let his anger over ride him. Especially in front of Sherlock.
Sherlock spun around to face him, almost forgetting that he was there and gave a slight scowl in Sally's direction as she muttered her favourite insult at him. "Freak."
"Right, I want all of you out of my office. Sherlock-I will text you after I've done the paper work but right now I can't deal with any of you. Donovan, Anderson-I expect better behaviour by tomorrow evening from the pair of you." He sat back and glared at them all until they left one by one, John dragging Sherlock out by the hand as he started to deduct Lestrade being tired. However, Lestrade didn't hear a word of what Sherlock was saying and was thankful as he couldn't bear to hear what Sherlock had to say. He could only bear to be with Sherlock for a certain amount of time.
They were dealing with a triple murder in the East of London, two adults and one teenager dead in the same room with the door locked in from behind and it was taking a toll on him. Lestrade shouldn't have to be dealing with this at his age-he should be working in an office and doing all the paper work with his feet up. Relaxing before his retirement, but where was the fun in that?
"Tiring day?" A familiar voice asked and Greg snapped out of his daze and looked up, only to find Mycroft Holmes standing in front of him. Umbrella in his left hand and coffee and a bag of what seemed to be something from 'Greggs' in the other. Lestrade gave a slight chuckle at Mycroft's humour.
"You could say that." He gestured Mycroft to sit down and he did, neatly crossing his leg over the over and put the coffee and greasy bag on Lestrade desk that was covered in mountain piles of paperwork. "What brings you here?"
"You haven't had anything to eat in the last twenty-four hours," Mycroft deducted. "And someone told me that you needed a break."
Greg wondered who this 'someone' was but didn't press the matter and nodded instead. "Thank you. I appreciate it." Quickly, he drank the coffee, tasting the boiling liquid in his mouth and for a moment, Greg forgot how quenched he was. "You never go to Greggs,"
Mycroft cleared his throat. "I only went because I knew you loved your pastries," He put the umbrella down on the floor. "Besides, you haven't had them in over three weeks."
Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Been keeping track?" He asked and he opened the bag, only to find that Mycroft had bought his favourite. In there was a cornish pasty and Greg took it out and it felt like it had just come out of the oven. He wanted to drool over this but he knew Mycroft would not improve of his manners if he did.
Instead, he placed it on the desk and with his pocket knife he kept in his draw, he sliced it in half. Mycroft showing slight confusion as he did so. Once he cut it, making another mess upon his desk, he pushed it towards him.
"Have it." Lestrade said. Mycroft spluttered nervously. Lestrade knew basics about Mycroft and Sherlock's upbringing-knowing that they were brought up in a posh civilised manner where he was poor and had drunken parents fighting, but you definitely can't beat a Greggs pastry. "C'mon, nobody is watching. Besides if they were they wouldn't hear the end of it," Greg lifted up his own and bit into the hot pastry and moaned in appreciation.
At first, Mycroft looked unsure at the pastry- thinking that Lestrade had better eat it first but seeing his glare, he slowly bit into the Cornish pastry. Greg gave him a cocky grin.
"I know it's not as good as the food back home but sometimes you need a Greggs pastry to cheer you up," Mycroft neatly finished his half, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief that he kept in his pocket.
"You do know that I am meant to be on a diet?"
"Mycroft how many times do I have to say it? You don't need a diet, you're perfect the way you are." And he meant it. By gods, Mycroft had to be one of the most perfect people he has ever met. Even Greg had anxieties about his own body now and then, it was nothing how Mycroft had anxieties over his. "Besides, I wouldn't have you any other way." Wiping his mouth feeling a little full, he smiled.
Mycroft sighed. "I know Greg. It's-"
Before Mycroft could finish the sentence however, Greg silenced him with a quick kiss on the lips. His lips lingering there for a few minutes. He didn't feel this sort of passion with Karen, his ex-wife nor with anybody else but with Mycroft it was different. He made him crazy, made him want him more and Greg knew that he would never love another.